Page 2 of A Thief Among Fae

Evie grips me as the prince’s gaze falls on her. She smiles with the warmth of blossoming wildflowers, and her cheeks grow rosy with a blush. The prince’s composure falters. His smile is shy, his wave imperfect for the briefest moment. Then the carriage rolls past us, and he’s gone.

“All that commotion, and it’s already over,” I mutter. I can’t help but feel contempt for royalty. They’re so isolated within their masked balls and egregious tithes that they’ll never feel empathy for the peasant class. For us. Not even if we starve. That’s just one reason I’ll never understand Evie’s adoration for them.

Evie touches her lips as if she could feel Prince Ronan’s mouth on hers. “I think he looked at me.” Then the awe falls from her face. “Or I imagined it. What prince would smile at a girl wearing this?” She bunches her tunic with a resentful grimace. “Maybe if I were a Great, I would stand out.”

It’s the first trace of discontent she’s shown in a long time. Part of me is glad she’s still holding on to the hope of a better life. The rest of me wilts because I can’t change our lives yet. “Your clothes will never detract from what’s here,” I tell her, poking her nose. “A smile so beautiful that it’ll turn any prince’s head. Even the handsome ones. And don’t worry about the Gift classes. They don’t matter.”

At least, that’s what I tell myself. The five classes of magic defined by the Elowynite Order are ranked by power and rarity. The Elite class consists of the strongest Gifts—the legendary ones. The royal family are Elites, but the nature of their Gifts is a guarded secret. Greats, the second-most powerful class, are uncommon. Most people on the continent are class three or four. Like us. Painfully average.

Still, some Average Gifts are more valued than others. An Average, Lesser, or Minor Gift could be suited for particular occupations. For farmers, flora magic can be the difference between a bountiful harvest and a barren yield.

I was only four years old when my magic awakened. It felt like a static shock through my mind, as if I’d grown an extra limb or developed a sixth sense. I was so excited to show my parents my magic that I ran to them, shouting across the field.

They looked at me in silence. Then they looked at each other, brows drawn and lips pursed. When they finally spoke, their voices were tight and their smiles were like a scarecrow’s. Too broad. Too forced. My Gift may be uncommon, but it wouldn’t help them in the fields.

How could any child forget a look like that?

I shove the memory away.

“The shop is behind us,” I tell Evie.

“Alright.” She sighs. “If only we could attend Ronan’s ball, even as serving girls. I’d give anything to glimpse him in a waistcoat.”

It’s not until we reach the fabric shop that Evie stops moping. She strokes the swaths draped before the door and grins. Inside, bolts of fabric including velvet, satin, and hemp line the walls. Someone might believe a rainbow was slain to create this many colors.

Evie lingers before a pink brocade, longing in her brown eyes. Her hair is a lustrous gold, while mine is paler, like dried straw. My eyes are two shades darker than hers, and while her hips and breasts swell, I’m tall and thin as a weed. I don’t resent her. If anything, I worry about her. There are too many tales where wicked fae whisk away beautiful women to be their brides. Too many men think a heavy coin purse entitles them to do the same.

“Do you like it?” the draper calls from the counter. She comes over and dangles a pink satin ribbon against the brocade. “Look at that match! It would look stunning in your hair. Or imagine if it were green!” With a tap of her finger, a delicate spring green blooms across the brocade. “I can change it back, if you like.”

So the draper’s Gift is why her fabrics are so vibrant. I can’t help but be impressed, even though she’s probably a Minor—the lowest class of magic. “How much for four yards?” I ask. “With the ribbon.”

“Ten silver marks.”

Evie’s hand falls from the fabric. “I’ll find something else, Cyn.” She flashes me a smile, and if I weren’t her sister, she’d have me fooled.

“How much without the ribbon?” I ask.

The draper’s lips purse. There’s a fullness in her cheeks that few in our village have. “Nine silver.”

I gave Evie six when we left home. It would be enough for a swath of cotton. Maybe taffeta. But I can tell from the slight crinkle of her eyes that she yearns to twirl in that brocade. “Evie, I’ll be back in half an hour. Don’t buy anything and do not leave the shop.”

Her brows pinch. “Where are you going?”

“To the docks. Swear you’ll be here when I’m done.”

The shopkeeper doesn’t look pleased about entertaining my sister, especially since I told her not to spend my coins. “I swear it,” Evie says. She smiles nervously at the shopkeeper.

Satisfied, I leave and retrace our steps through the market to the front gate. It’s hard not to stop and gawk, but Evie is too naive to be left alone in the capital for long. I hurry down the hill to the docks.

The Bay of Teeth is named for the jagged rocks at its mouth that make it difficult for ships to reach the ocean. The scent of brine and the shrill call of seagulls carry along its shoreline. Moored cogs rock in the rough waves as swearing crews repair sails or transport cargo onto the docks.

It’s not the ships I’m after, but the warehouses lining the road. At the fifth warehouse, I pause at the doorway flanked by a hooded goblin woman and a human man with an eyepatch. The goblin watches me with her unblinking jet-black eyes as the man holds out his hand.

Greedy bastard. I drop a copper mark into his palm. He has the audacity to grunt and shake his head.

“You’re really extorting a woman with shoes so worn the sole is splitting?” I tip my foot up for emphasis. “My children dine with the livestock. It must anguish my deceased husband that they starve so, Elowyn rest his soul. Perhaps I should recite a prayer to our goddess in the hope she’ll forgive me for my failure as a mother. O mighty, sagacious Elowyn, supreme mother of our pantheon, please⁠—”

“Enough!” the goblin snaps. “Get inside!”